


Spaghetti and Strategy

by vanillafluffy



Category: The Three Investigators | Die drei ??? - Various Authors, The Trixie Belden Mysteries - Julie Campbell Tatham & Kathryn Kenny
Genre: Anniversary, Celebrations, F/M, Gen, M/M, Money, Money Woes, Strategy & Tactics, Trixie saves the day, farming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-06-19 14:06:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15511509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanillafluffy/pseuds/vanillafluffy
Summary: The crew at Belden Farms celebrates their first year on the property, but there are plans to be hatched to keep growing the business.





	Spaghetti and Strategy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Brumeier](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brumeier/gifts).



“Do you know what today is?”

“Tuesday,” Trixie answers, tapping her pencil against the table without looking up from the shopping list she’s trying to compose. “October 17th.”

“No,” her brother Mart responds, “It’s one year ago today that I signed the papers on the farm.”

“Okay. It’s still Tuesday.” Trixie does look up, but there’s a faraway look in her eyes. That means it’s also the anniversary of when she first met Jupiter. She’d liked him right away for his helpfulness, but over the course of the last year, she’s found all sorts of less obvious qualities about him.

“We should have a party!” Mart exclaims.

“Are you crazy? We’re having the mother of all Halloween parties in less than two weeks!”

“No, I mean just us.” He gives a little wave that’s meant to include Ben, his partner. “And Jupe, I guess. And talk about where things stand and where we’re going. It doesn’t have to be fancy.”

“I guess I could whip up spaghetti and meatballs,” Trixie concedes. “I have to run to the store. Oh, and I’d better call Jupe!”

Later, when the four are gathered around the circular table enjoying Trixie’s take on spaghetti --made with sauce she canned herself from Belden Farms tomatoes--Mart looks up from his plate and says, “You’re probably wondering why I called you here this evening--”

“Nope,” Jupiter Jones rebuts. “My girlfriend invited me to dine with her. You guys are just spam. Nothing personal.”

Trixie giggles and even Ben quickly hides his smile behind his napkin. Mart’s look of disbelief is priceless. She intervenes to save her almost-twin’s feelings. “It’s a year ago that he bought the farm--literally--meaning it’s a year since you and I met,” Trixie explains to Jupe.

“He may have bought the farm today, but according to my calendar, you and I met a year from tomorrow, when you came to the salvage yard looking for him. You had on a blue and white striped shirt and blue slacks. Your hair was a lot shorter…” Jupe trails off with a cough. “At least, that’s the way I remember it.”

She squeezes his hand. “Go on, Mart. He’s going to tell us where Belden Farms is and where we’re going,” she adds parenthetically to Jupe.

“Things are tight,” Mart admits. “If it wasn’t for Dad’s subsidy, I don’t know what we’d do.”

“What about the produce and egg delivery service you guys are doing?” Jupiter frowns. “I thought that was making a difference.”

“Oh, it is.” Mart sighs. “It’s covering some of the overhead, but I have to deduct the cost of going out and delivering, and that’s not inexpensive.”

“Maybe if you retired that gas-hog of yours,” Jupe comments. “I know a guy who does bio-diesel conversions, we could play ‘Let’s Make a Deal’ with him.”

“I’ve got some good news!” Ben chimes in. “Some of the blue eggs hatched! They definitely don’t look like any of the Rhode Island Reds, so it seems we’ve officially got some of our first vintage-variety chicks! If we propagate them, just think! That could be a whole new market!”

Although he’d initially been leery of the hens, suburban-bred Ben has gradually become fascinated by their poultry and has largely taken over management of the hen-house. He’d gotten some odd-looking chicks a while back; when they matured and began producing eggs, he’d come running into the house hollering the good news when one of them laid a blue egg. Apparently, the little misfits are coming into their own.

“As long as we can afford chicken feed,” Mart says. He bites his lip. “We need a bigger source of income. There’s a collective in town that we can join--they do a bulk sale of what they harvest from us and others and we get a percentage.”

“I can make us some money,” Trixie says with a little smile.

“Dare I ask?” her brother responds, raising an eyebrow.

“I happened to bump into Jean-Francois Vidoq while I was at the market today,” she answers. “You remember that marmalade I gave him as an apology? Well, it turns out he absolutely loved it and wants to use it was the secret ingredient in one of his recipes. He’d be serving it at his restaurant in L.A.. He’s asking for twenty-five gallons a week.”

“How, my dear sister, are you going to produce _twenty-five gallons a week?!_ ” Mart demands.

Nettled, she glares across the table at him. “Clearly, I would invest some of _my_ savings in several more big slow cookers,” she retorts, and adds in a saccharine tone. “Thank you, Trixie, for being such a good team player and a swell sister!”

Mart slumps in his chair. “That’s an awful lot of work,” he protests. “Along with cooking and cleaning this place and working at the salvage yard--is it really worth it?”

“Did I mention that he’s willing to pay just a little less than retail? We’ve been selling it for $10 a pint. Jean-Francois and I came to a deal, he’ll pay $150 a gallon.”

“That’s my girl,” Jupe says, raising his glass of iced tea. Ben applauds.

Mart just stares at her, mouth moving soundlessly. 

“That’s fifteen thousand dollars a month,” Jupiter says helpfully, having done the math in his head.

“And I will never say another bad thing about the high menu prices at his restaurants again,” Trixie vows fervently. “Even if it’s only on the menu as a seasonal item, it would help.”

“The cachet!” Ben breathes. Mart has playfully dubbed him their Marketing Director and he’s obviously thinking in those terms now. “Think about it, if Jean-Francois Vidoq endorses Belden Preserves, that would be huge!”

“You are an incredible, amazing sister! You are the Maiden of Marmalade, the Princess of Preserves, the--somebody help me out here, I need another alliteration.” Mart gets up, goes around the table and hugs her. “Trixie, that would really dig us out of this hole we’re in. Thank you.”

Trixie inclines her head. “You may address me as Your Majesty,” she responds impishly.

“So, to summarize,” Jupe weighs in, “Your prowess at preserving is potentially the perfect product to produce profits. In other words, Your Majesty, you’re going to make mucho marmalade and even more money. And with some of that money, your brother is going to acquire an economical alternative to his archaic automobile. Meanwhile, Ben’s breeding birds that burp blue eggs.”

“Burp eggs?” Trixie whoops.

Jupiter laughs sheepishly with her, and Ben gets into the spirit with, “Brilliant blue eggs! Breeding birds from brilliant blue eggs!”

“That does make more sense,” Trixie adds.

“Hold it!” Mart exclaims. They all look at him. “I’m just trying to process all this! Fifteen thou a month? And if we did get an endorsement from Vidoq--you’re right, Ben--that would put us on the map. The trouble is, we’d need to expand out of the kitchen. I know ‘artisanal’ means small batches, but if we started getting dozens of orders--”

“Oh gosh!” Ben gasps in consternation. “I’ll need to _seriously_ update the website!”

“Don’t count your chickens til they’ve hatched!” Trixie advises. “I’ll go get a few of those jumbo slow cookers. I’ll need to find a source of gallon jars--or a whole bunch of quarts. Let’s see how that goes. If nothing else, hopefully I can make enough to get you a better vehicle.”

“Nothing against Baby,” Ben contributes, “but it would be lovely to make deliveries in something with better technology that an AM radio and an 8-track player. Who the heck puts an 8-track player in a hearse, anyway?”

“Maybe to provide music for graveside services?” Jupe suggests. “Meanwhile, calculate use versus fuel economy and don’t take her on any unnecessary trips. How much are your deliveries costing you?”

“Too much. I’m not overly sentimental--I know I need something that isn’t going to eat me alive on gas--plus, Baby’s over forty. You and I put some work into her when I got her last year--” Mart meets Jupe’s gaze, “but even so, eventually things are going to start breaking, bigger, more expensive things like the drivetrain or the transmission. Things I really can’t afford to fix. Until the Maven of Marmalade opened her mouth, I couldn’t see any way to replace her. Our dad’s been great about helping us out, but there are limits--I _couldn’t_ ask him for a new car!”

“Terrific! We have a plan!” Jupe says cheerily. “Marmalade equals new truck, new truck equals more productive produce deliveries, plus heirloom chickens. Fantastic! Great meeting, everybody!”

“What are you in such a darn hurry about?” Mart demands. “It’s not your meeting.”

“No, but it does happen to be my almost-anniversary, and I was going to give my girlfriend a present to celebrate.” Jupe smiles at Trixie and is rewarded with a blush.

“Oh, well, that’s different,” Mart retorts, restored to his usual sarcastic self. “Go, seduce my sister, see if I care! Just don’t break her heart, or I’ll have to crush you, because she’s my favorite sister!”

“I’ll be right with you,” Trixie addresses her suitor. She sashays over to the kitchen, where she’s busy for a moment. Trixie bears a baking dish toward the bedroom. “Your dessert is in the kitchen!” she says to the couple at the table. “This is coming with me, so you don’t hog the whole thing!”

Ben goes to investigate. “She made us marshmallow treats!” he announces with delight. He brings two generous portions back to the table, along with the milk jug and two glasses.

“A toast!” he says, pouring the milk. “To Trixie.”

Mart lifts his glass and salutes the closed bedroom door. “To Trixie, for making my dreams possible. She really is my favorite sister!”

“Daddy-o, she’s your only sister.”

“Whatever. Cheers!”

…


End file.
